“We’re going to the Union Pacific’s hotel to dine on the most tender steak you’ve ever eaten,” said Jesse. “Unless, of course, you’d like to dine here.” Many people stood eating full plates of food set on a long board. Aromas of bread, meat, fish, pickles, and spices filled the air.
Mary shook her head. “It looks interesting, but no thanks.”
“The West! It lures the adventurous.” He gestured to a lively woman who presided over her stall serving bread, cheese, and pickles. “There’s a valiant pioneer woman who lived through Indian fights, one which killed her husband. But it couldn’t shake her love for the West. No, ma’am.” She looked up as they passed and smiled at them.
Mary looked back at the woman. “Is nobody a stranger to you, Mr. Harcourt?”
He laughed, noticing that she’d used his last name again. “I find people fascinating. Each one is a story as complex as the knots I taught little Nate.”
“And Tommy.” Mary’s gaze softened, and she raised an eyebrow, the same way as her father. He realized there were several unconscious mannerisms that mirrored her father’s.
“Here we are.” The sign on the hotel said they could dine four hundred people and lodge fifty. They were quickly seated and served.
Jesse leaned toward her. “You’re very quiet, Mary Sherwood.”
She blushed prettily. “You win. I’ll call you Jesse if you’ll call me Mary.”
He smiled, thinking about how proud George Sherwood would be of his intelligent, kind, sweet daughter. He wished she could come north with them from San Francisco to see their logging business. She picked at her dinner when it was first brought to her, but after a few bites, she said, “This is the most delicious, tender steak I’ve ever eaten!”
After their meal they strolled through the town. They passed low, flat-roofed wooden shops full of goods and saw a scattering of tents and shanties on a side street. Across the street were two gambling and dance houses.
In one of the shop windows, Mary’s eyes were drawn to a tray of agates. Jesse pointed to a large gray one. “They’re called moss agates. See how nature set the design in and through the solid stone.”
Mary leaned closer. “Look, that one has dainty ferns and feathery seaweeds in it.”
“And there’s one with tassels of pines.” He was glad to see her perk up a little.
“Where do they come from?” She looked at him with a glint of wonder in her eyes.
He had to force his gaze away from her. “They are gathered in Colorado. Each one must have taken centuries to make.”
She sighed. “They are exquisite! That one has rippling water lines of ancient tides.”
“Let’s go in. You can pick one out to take with you.”
“Oh, no! I couldn’t.” She drew back, looking longingly at the gems.
“Your father would want you to have them. He—”
“Maybe some other time.” That sadness in her eyes was quickly replaced with calmness.
Back at the station, passengers milled about, waiting for the “All aboard” call. Jesse introduced Mary to the colorful woman who ran the eatery stall and bought two large dill pickles and some crackers and cheese for later.
As they boarded, he looked back. Elizabeth sat on a bench, leaning forward with her head down. A uniformed railway man stood beside her, looking flustered. Something was wrong. “I’ll be right back,” he told Mary.
He hurried to Elizabeth. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She looked up at him with misery in her eyes. “I had a stomach pain, and they won’t let me on the train!” She squeezed her eyes tightly, and he wondered if she were having a pain now. “I have to get there! Only two more days to California!”
“All aboard!” came the loud cry. Jesse looked back. The train hadn’t moved.
Another railroad man approached. “Madam, you cannot board the train in your condition. There is no doctor aboard. Please listen to reason!” He signaled someone near the station.
“I have been on your train since Chicago in this condition, and I am not having the baby today.” She stood and reached for Jesse’s arm. “Let me on that train!”
The station guard came toward them. “Is there trouble here?”
While the men told him about Elizabeth’s condition, Jesse leaned close to her and asked, “Are you sure it’s not time?”
She whispered furiously, “Of course I’m sure! Do you think I’d jeopardize my baby by giving birth on the train?”
Behind him Jesse heard the hiss of steam and banging of couplers, along with the shrill whistle from the engine. The train was moving. He faced the three men. “I’m not a doctor but have assisted one. I believe this woman when she says she’s not having the baby. Sometimes women in her condition have stomachaches, just like the rest of us.” He tried to hurry her toward the slowly moving train. “I’ll be responsible for her.”
“You’re too late,” said the guard. “The train is in motion. No one is allowed to board.”
Shock at being left gave way to fury. “You kept us from boarding! I know you can stop the train. We hold tickets to San Francisco, and I intend to get there.” He pointed to the train, still passing. The last car had not left the station. “Stop this train. Now.”
All three men shook their heads, and Jesse watched the last car roll down the tracks away from them. He yearned to run after it but wouldn’t leave Elizabeth. Feeling strangely desolate, he shoved his hands into his pockets. What would happen to Mary? God, please take care of her.
Chapter 8
March 22, 1874
I read the last part of what I wrote last night and winced at the force of my emotions. I have repented for being angry at God. I know now that it wasn’t just my father I was angry with; it was God. And I’m very sorry about that. He didn’t make the tragedy, but He was there with protection and guidance for me all the time. And from what J. says, I have to believe that He was there for my father too.
Yesterday J. left for a moment and never came back. I worried and fretted, wondering why. I can’t help feeling that I’ve been left alone again. The same old desolate feeling taunts me. I miss J., even though I’ve done enough to drive him away. I can’t blame him if he decided he doesn’t want to escort me to San Francisco. I thought of searching the train to see if he simply decided to ride elsewhere but thought better of it. What if I found him sitting with a congenial group of people? What could he say? What would I say?
I’ve asked God to give me strength if I have to face my father alone. How will I recognize him? If J. is not on the train, then I’ll need God to show me what to do. I don’t expect a fairytale ending, with my father and I falling tearfully into each other’s arms, but I don’t know what will happen, and it unnerves me.
Mary spent her afternoon studying the geography book and paging through the trip guidebook. After leaving Cheyenne City they traveled steadily up, the throbbing puffs of the hard-at-work engine moving them slowly. Passing stretches of snow and clumps of firs and pines, the fantastically shaped rocks were the only things to break the land’s desolate loneliness.
Sherman is the highest railway point in the world, the guidebook said. Over eight thousand feet above the sea. Outside, cattle stood in a fenced space beside a boulder fifty feet high, and Mary wondered about the rancher and his family who chose to live in this isolated place.
The train was so high above the tops of many mountains that they themselves blended and became a wide field of hills, but at the horizon rose higher peaks, white with snow. A pang of loneliness for Eugenia, Lolly, and Mrs. Palmer swept through her. She longed for Jesse’s steady, positive company.
As the train continued to climb, she had to walk uphill to the forward cars. She wondered if she’d see Jesse enjoying himself with a group of cheerful travelers. Outside, grotesque stunted and bent trees and more large rocks stood like hillside sentinels watching them pass.
She’d just stepped into a car full of people when the train shuddered to a stop.
A mother had laid her tired baby on the seat as the conductor strolled through calling, “Sherman. Half-hour stop.” Mary went back for her coat. Outside the chill air cooled her cheeks, and her breath came out in puffs. If she thought Cheyenne City was small, it looked like a metropolis compared to Sherman. With only a half-dozen dwellings, most of the passengers milled around aimlessly, some fleeing the cold inside the small Black Hills Tavern.
Hearing the bang and crunch of the trains, Mary noticed that they were uncoupling one of the engines.
A gentleman in a brown three-piece suit approached. “I noticed you earlier. Is this your first trip west?”
“Yes.” Mary tucked her hands into her pockets to keep them warm. The huge couplers undid themselves like unclasping a necklace.
“We won’t be needing that extra engine we added back at Cheyenne,” he said. “It’s mostly downhill to Laramie.”
Although she didn’t know him, Mary was glad for the company. “Do you work for the railroad?”
“Indeed I do,” he replied, his pecan brown eyes smiling down at her. “I manage the car, machine, and repair shops in Omaha.”
The extra engine chugged away, leaving the train with its original engine. “It’s just amazing,” she said, “that the railroad has laid tracks all across our great country.”
“There’s not much a man can’t do if he puts his mind to it,” he said, lifting his brows. “Would you like to go inside the engine?”
Mary hesitated, wondering if she should.
“Pardon my manners, miss. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Jared McNulty.” He removed his hat and swept it before him in a deep bow. “At your service.”
Mary smiled at his overacting. “Mary Sherwood. And I’d be happy to see the engine.”
“Capital!” He offered his arm, and they climbed aboard.
He introduced her to the engineer who was standing, making notes in a logbook. Mr. McNulty showed her the great breastplate door behind which burned the heart of fire that kept the train moving. She looked ahead at the glistening black double road. A workman jumped inside, tipped his hat to her, and poured oil into various joints of shiny knobs and rods and handles, then jumped back out for more maintenance work.
The engineer looked up from his logbook, lovingly patted a shiny handle and smiled at Mary, lifting his wide mustache to show even, white teeth. “Well, Miss, what do you think of her?”
Mary took a deep breath, looking at the array of knobs. She wanted to think of something intelligent to ask, so she said, “Which one of those levers steers it?”
Laughing, he said, “Oh! I don’t steer her. She steers herself. Put her on the track,” he said pointing ahead, “and feed her.” He pointed at the boiler. “That’s all.”
Mary felt her cheeks grow hot. “Oh,” she said in a small voice.
He shook his head. “Don’t feel embarrassed, miss. It was a good question.”
Another trainman jumped on board and handed the engineer a note. His fist tightened, crumpling it. “What? Why those—pardon me, miss. McNulty, it looks like we’ll be here for awhile. I hope your men can take care of this quickly.”
He handed the crumpled note to McNulty, who escorted Mary off the engine. “Indians have torn up the tracks a few miles up the road. We’ll have to fix them before we can go on.”
Mary pulled her coat collar up in the cold breeze. “Indians? Why?”
“Yes, Indians. Don’t want us crossing their territory, you see. We’ve stopped most of them, but there are still a few who think they can stop us if there are no tracks for the train to run on.”
“How long will we be here?”
“Oh, I expect a couple of hours, depending on how bad the damage is.” He gestured toward the tavern. “Would you like to go inside and have a hot cup of tea or something?”
Mary eyed the tavern but hesitated. She didn’t frequent such places and had misgivings about it. She glanced back at the train, thinking of her lonely room. She’d begun to depend on Jesse and missed his company more than she could have imagined. The cold from the planks seeped into the soles of her feet.
“I would be happy to see you to the entryway,” said McNulty, chafing his hands to warm them.
Jesse’s face invaded her thoughts, and she suddenly felt an acute sense of loss. “I don’t think so.” She shivered as the dusk deepened. The train sat like a huge beast at rest. “I think I’ll go back to my seat. Thank you for showing me the engine and for the company.”
“I enjoyed every minute.” He touched his hat and took her elbow. Handing her up the steps, he held her hand a moment longer than necessary. “You are one special woman, Mary Sherwood. I’ll see you in Laramie.” He turned and walked away.
Mary couldn’t stop thinking about Jesse’s words, “Love one another. That’s what counts.” The words echoed in her brain as she boarded the train. They filled the empty places left from her angry outpouring into her journal the night before.
Back in her room Mary sank on her knees beside the sofa. Please bring Jesse back, and help me, Lord, to have the love in my heart You want me to have. Father, I am sorry for doubting You, and I ask You to forgive me.
In her mind’s eye, she saw her father, not as he left her, going off to war; now it was as if he were in a misty place waiting for her. She laid her head on her arms and stayed that way quietly for some minutes, unable to continue praying. So she stood and paced the room, wondering why she felt God wanted something more from her. She stared out the window, her mind a blank. Then her gaze landed on her journal. She cringed at the shameful venom she’d poured onto its pages.
But it had to be done. In that one night of feverish writing she had purged her heart of years of anger, and for once she felt swept clean of it. “Thank You, God,” she breathed. She thought of her father again.
Pushing the memory aside, she wondered where Jesse was. She ached with loneliness, missing him. Take care of him, Lord. It wasn’t just that she felt alone. She had the company of a gentleman this afternoon and knew she could spend more time with Mr. McNulty, but she missed Jesse. She missed his ready smile, his friendship, and steady company.
Something happened at Cheyenne City to keep him from getting on the train. She would have seen him here in the delay and milling passengers. His belongings were still in their car. His valises stood near the bookcase.
She perched on the chair for a moment. Tense, she jumped up and began pacing again. The windows were black with night. She’d been gone from home not even a week, and so much had happened. Jesse had broken through her safe barriers, forcing her to examine the sorrow and anger she’d held for so many years. He had been in terrible circumstances but hadn’t let them pull him down. He faced life with an open heart, ready to help, to give when he saw a need. He’d shown her that by faith a believer can walk in peace, with no weights from the past.
As she paced and thought, she found herself drawn to the freedom which beckoned, but which had the terrible price of forgiving her father. If she did, how would she make sense of her life? If there was no one to blame, then was no one in charge of anything? Not even God? She ground her teeth and pushed back the hair that had fallen over her forehead. If there was no reason for her family being violently torn apart, then nothing made sense.
No. It was her father’s fault. If he hadn’t gone, if he hadn’t left them… Oh, God, help me see from Your perspective. She went to the window and gazed out at the tracks shining in the darkness. Remembering parts of a scripture she’d read somewhere, she picked up her Bible to find it. Something about God caring for a tender branch. From the concordance in the back, she found the words in Job, chapter 14. “For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease.”
She read the verses before and after, but verse 7 made her heart beat faster. She thought of how Jesse said love was what mattered. Although other interpretations may apply, she linked the thoughts of love and the tree cut down
. Somewhere on the way from Tennessee to the safety of Mrs. Palmer’s house, she had let bitterness and anger come in and wrap their thorns around her heart. Love had been squeezed out. Like the tree in the verse, it had been cut down.
But, Father, I always loved You. Biting her lip, staring at the open Bible, she wondered if that were true, then realized that she did and that God knew it. Even though she’d been angry with Him, she’d never stopped loving Him. But the anger had cut down her love, leaving a tender branch struggling to survive. All these years, trying to be safe from harm, she’d gotten by with nine parts self-control and one part trust in God. The thought shamed her.
Mary fell on her knees. Oh, God, I’ve been so willful and controlling over my life. I felt I had justifiable resentment because of the injustice of my problems. She gave Him the anger, hurt, and bitterness and asked Him to forgive her and to help her forgive her father and restore love between them. She thanked Him that he was alive and that she was not alone; she had real family.
She talked with God a long time, until she felt clean, as though her soul had been washed. And a deep peace filled her heart. It was as if her life had stopped that day the soldiers burned her home and killed her mother. It began again the day Jesse appeared on the doorstep with the news that her father was alive and wanted to see her.
As though heralding the change in her, the engine’s whistle screeched. Wondering what time it was, she wiped away the tears. In the water closet she splashed cold water on her face, then went to see what was happening outside. Holding on to the bar she leaned out. Just as the conductor shouted “All aboard!” a carriage drew up, the horses skidding to a stop. A man jumped out.
“Jesse!” Mary’s heart turned over, and the heat of joy flooded her.
Jesse reached up to help the other passenger from the carriage. A woman. Her joy faded, and she felt herself fading with it.
As the engine’s whistle blew, Jesse thanked God that they’d arrived in time. “We made it!” He helped Elizabeth down and thanked the driver for making haste.
Where the Heart Is Romance Collection Page 41